


Down to the Bone

by ohfreckle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fingerfucking, First Meetings, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>„Darling, I would have shagged you all night, but only one of us is young enough to completely lack a refractory period, and it’s not my cock.“</i>
</p><p>Twenty year old Arthur picks up a soldier in a bar and gets a little more than he bargained for. In this case, feelings he isn't equipped to handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down to the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Not-fic that started out as a drabble to accompany a gif [I made for tumblr](http://ohfreckle.tumblr.com/post/29752846721/nsfw-not-fic-for-this-that-started-out-as-a). Apparently I can't shut up about these two.

"Can you... deeper — like this, yeah," Arthur groans when Eames slips a fourth finger inside of him.

Eames has fucked him twice already and Arthur is wet and open, but Eames’ hands are huge, thick fingers and wide palms, and it _burns_ like hell.

"Christ, just look at you," Eames murmurs, his voice barely more than a rumble. „Taking it so beautifully. You love this.“

„I could take your cock if you just could get it up again, old man,“ Arthur grinds out between his teeth. He rolls his hips up and tries to get those fingers slide in that little bit deeper where he needs them, but he doesn’t have any room to move with Eames’ heavy bulk pressing him into the lumpy mattress. They’re a filthy, sweaty mess. Eames is lying on top of Arthur and effectively pins him to the bed, one hand fisted in his hair, the other moving between Arthur legs at an angle that is just _not enough, dammit._

Eames’ face is a blurry shape looming over him, so close that Arthur has to blink the sweat from his eyes and go a little cross-eyed to bring his face back into focus and see the smirk that he knows he’ll find there.

„That good, hmm?“ Eames asks with a sweet smile that belies the vicious twist of his fingers inside Arthur. „You wore me out, you greedy little thing, you’ll just have to make do with this. Or choose more wisely next time you pick up some poor unsuspecting bloke and take him home.“

Arthur surges up just to shut him up and wipe that smug grin off his face. He mashes his mouth against Eames’ in a messy clash of lips and teeth, anything to make him stop talking about things Arthur is not ready to think about, not yet. Eames lets him, opens up easily and lets Arthur bite kisses into his mouth until they finally have to break for air.

„God, your _mouth_ ,“ Arthur mutters, letting his head thump back on the pillow. He stares helplessly at Eames, at his sweaty face and generous lips which are now red and slick from Arthur’s kisses. Arthur did that to him, made him look wrecked and fucked out like something out of his wet dreams. God, how did he get so lucky?

„Do you have any idea how you look? It’s… indecent.“

„They call me Handsome Bob on base, can’t be too bad, eh,“ Eames laughs and he has to nerve to _wink_ at Arthur while he’s knuckle-deep in his ass. It’s appalling, really, but also damn hot and — oh fuck, if Eames keeps spreading his fingers inside of Arthur like that, it’ll be over way too soon.

Arthur flings an arm over his eyes, trying to give himself a few seconds to catch his breath, but Eames is having none of it. He kneels up between Arthur’s legs for better leverage, a gentle touch to the inside of Arthur’s knee enough to make Arthur spread his thighs wide to accommodate Eames.

„Look at me,“ Eames growls, voice low. The sound is like a physical touch, it shoots straight down Arthur’s spine and meets with Eames’ fingertips inside of him in a bright shock of need.

„I want you to look at me and remember exactly who is doing this to you. I want to you to touch yourself tonight and wish it would be me.“

„Then you better give me something I won’t forget,“ Arthur rasps. He levers himself up until he can lean back on his elbows and watches Eames with half-lidded eyes.

He looked so handsome last night when Arthur gathered all his courage and asked him if he could buy a soldier a drink, but nothing could have prepared Arthur for how stunning Eames looks under those BDUs, all thick muscle covered in light-colored hair that felt slightly coarse under Arthur’s tongue and endless swirls of dark ink.

„Eames, please… come on, make me come,“ Arthur pleads, breath hitching. He’s tired, wrung out and sore, but also painfully hard and the slow slide of Eames’ fingers inside has him teetering on the edge of something huge.

„Gonna make you scream, baby. Watch,“ Eames growls, slipping his fingers out and dribbling more lube over his hand. Arthur hates the way it leaves him empty, needs them back inside _now_ and he quickly leans up higher on his hands for a better angle to watch Eames’ hand between his legs.

Eames keeps him spread with one hand on the inside of his thigh, his tan a stark contrast to Arthur’s fairer skin.The fingers of his other hand stroke through the neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair, blunt nails scratching the skin there lightly before trailing lower, completely bypassing Arthur’s cock. Arthur lifts his hips, impatient to be filled again, but Eames just keeps touching him with maddeningly light strokes up and down his cleft.

„Beautiful,“ Eames marvels, eyes riveted to where he’s touching Arthur. „So tender and soft, just like your pretty mouth. I wonder — “

He doesn’t give any warning before he crouches down and presses a chaste kiss over Arthur’s hole. Just a quick brush of lips, a rasp of stubble on sensitive skin, a wet stroke with the tip of his tongue over the small furl of muscle and then it’s already gone. It’s so shockingly intimate that Arthur can’t stop himself from crying out.

Arthur wants more of Eames’ mouth, but then those fingers are back between his cheeks and Eames is touching him, petting his hole while murmuring filthy praise. The short press of Eames’ fingertips against him is all the warning Arthur gets, then Eames slips inside him again, all four fingers in a quick slide until his knuckles are pressing heavily against Arthur’s rim.

„Oh god, fuck, _oh fuck…,_ “Arthur hisses, reeling with the sudden pressure and unable to keep the noises in.

Eames draws back and fucks him with deep and relentless strokes, every bump of his knuckles against Arthur’s oversensitive hole making Arthur moan and curse because it’s too much and still not enough. It hurts, a sharp and burning ache, but Arthur still rolls his hips eagerly and fucks himself on Eames’ hand because the glorious feeling of being stretched and filled easily overrides any discomfort he’s feeling.

„More, come on,“ he urges Eames on, „do it harder“.

„You sure?“ Eames asks him.

„Yeah, come on, please,“ Arthur chokes out, squirming and clenching down on Eames’ fingers. Everything feels tight and just too much, like his skin is too small to contain all the conflicting sensations and he needs only a little more so he can finally come.

He can’t stop staring at Eames between his thighs, the way the corded muscles in Eames’ forearm bunch and release with every twist of his fingers. Arthur is breathing hard with the relentless pressure against his rim, but he still begs for more until finally the ring of muscle gives and Eames’ knuckles slip inside him and just his thumb remains outside.

„Fuck me! Move, damn you,“ Arthur pants. He’s so full, stretched to his limits by Eames’ palm which is far wider than even Eames’ thick cock.

„Tell me you can come like this,“ Eames breathes heavily, eyes locked to where his fingers disappear inside Arthur. Arthur watches Eames watching him and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. The look on Eames’ face is so intense Arthur can almost physically feel it where Eames spreads him open, almost enough to make him come.

„Yeah, I think…,“ Arthur says, babbling, beyond words with how good it feels. „I just need —oh god, like that. Yes, right there.“ Eames fucks him hard and barely pulls out, fingertips skating over Arthur’s prostate until his thighs are shaking with the need to come.

When Arthur finally comes it’s sudden and sharp. Eames strokes his thumb over his tightly stretched rim and the small caress is enough to send Arthur toppling over the edge with a quiet gasp, dick straining and coating his stomach with what little come he has left to give. Arthur’s thighs lock with the force of it and he clenches down on Eames’ fingers. Eames strokes him through it from inside, pressing against Arthur’s prostate until he helplessly shudders again and falls back against the mattress, completely spent and boneless.

„Christ, Arthur, that was… unbelievable,“ Eames says, his voice hushed with awe.

Arthur laughs weakly, because that’s pretty much what he would say himself if he could only gather enough wit to form coherent words. At least he still has enough energy to kick Eames when he slips his fingers out and wipes them carelessly on Arthur’s favorite and only duvet.

„Oh god, that’s disgusting, I _sleep_ on that,“ Arthur grumbles, but with less heat than he actually intended. He guesses he can cut Eames some slack after the fucking fantastic orgasm he just gave him.

„Bollocks, darling, I’m sure you’ll have the sweetest dreams,“ Eames says with a smug grin. Still, he uses his clean hand to scoop up some of Arthur’s come. Arthur’s dick actually gives a valiant twitch at the sight of those plump lips sucking Arthur’s come off his fingers.

Eames leans down over him and Arthur relaxes, lets the heavy body on top of him press him deeper into the thin mattress. He darts his tongue out and licks the pads of Eames’ fingers pressing against his lips, tasting sweat and the bitter tang of come and lube.

„I can’t stay, darling, I need to get back on base,“ Eames whispers, breathing the words against Arthur’s lips and pressing his fingers a little deeper. Arthur opens his mouth and sucks on them greedily, desperate for a last taste if this is really all he can get.

Arthur can’t think of anything to say, can’t find the words to tell a stranger he met last night that he wants — no, _needs_ him to stay, that one night isn’t nearly enough. He never had to think about that until now, never wanted somebody to stay before and now he’s completely out of his depth, feeling suddenly very young.

Eames kisses him hard, a last wet slide of tongues, and then he’s up and gathering his clothes from the floor. His briefs seem to be missing, as well as his shirt.

„For someone who couldn’t get it up for a last round you’re awfully energetic. It’s the middle of the night,“ Arthur grouses, his post-orgasmic high fading quickly. _Say something, you idiot, ask him for his number_ he thinks desperately, but as eloquent as he usually is, the words just won’t come.

„It’s 3 am,“Eames says distractedly, fishing his hopelessly wrinkled shirt out from under a chair. „Bugger, I’m already late. I need to be back before the guards change shifts.“

„I hate the military,“ Arthur sighs petulantly. „Getting up this early should count as abuse. And they’re making you wear clothes, just how unfair is that.“

Eames grins and shakes his ass a little. It makes his cock jiggle in a most interesting way that’s equally ridiculous and obscene. Arthur wants to hate him for being so endearing and hot at the same time, but it seems he has no control whatsoever over his feelings where Eames is concerned.

„Darling, I would have shagged you all night, but only one of us is young enough to completely lack a refractory period, and it’s not my cock.“

Arthur snorts. „Shame, it’s a really nice cock otherwise.“

Damn, he wants to watch Eames dress, see that incredible body disappear under layer upon layer of ugly green cloth, but he can’t trust himself to not do something foolish if he does. Like begging Eames to stay or maybe elope with him. He isn’t a fool, he knows that being gay in the military is still difficult and probably the reason he met Eames in a pick up bar in the first place.

Instead he gets up, walks over and trails his hand lightly over Eames’ biceps.

„Look at how filthy you made me. I desperately need a shower,“ he says, trying for casual, like he’s done so often before. Except it’s not casual, but tense and awkward.

Eames doesn’t disappoint and answers with the requisite „I’ll let myself out.“ It’s evident he’s done this kind of morning after just as often as Arthur.

 _But maybe_ — Arthur suddenly thinks in a mad dash of bravery and turns back before he closes the bathroom door. „Can I —“

Eames gives him a wistful little smile and minutely shakes his head.

Arthur quickly closes the bathroom door, hoping that he was fast enough and didn’t let his face give away how much that little gesture hurts. He’s never wanted anyone to stay before, never believed in love at first sight and other romantic nonsense. Hell, he doesn’t even know what it is that he feels for Eames. Lust, infatuation or maybe just a passing fancy, but it’s new, exciting and makes his chest clench with _want_ and Eames’ rejection sting that much harder.

Arthur steps under the shower and adjusts the water as hot as he can stand it. He soaps himself briskly, rinsing away all evidence of the best sex he’s ever had. He wishes he could get rid of the disappointment and feeling of loss just as quickly, refusing to replay every single detail of the things Eames did to him in his head.

The hot water feels good on his sore muscles, soothing away most of the aches that a really good fucking brings. He lets it pelt down on him until it’s starting to get lukewarm, partly because he doesn’t want to think and to make sure that Eames is really gone when he steps out. The last thing he wants right now is to face Eames after he has made it clear that he isn’t interested in seeing him again.

He towels himself dry quickly. It’s Saturday morning and he deserves at least another couple of hours of sleep before he faces the outside world. Or maybe he’ll stay in bed, eat ice cream and watch TV all day. It wouldn’t be pining, not really, more like… indulging himself.

Then he notices the finger-shaped bruises on his hips, already darkening to a deep purple, and his resolve to not think about it crumbles. Arthur fits his own fingers over the marks, unable to cover them with his more slender fingers, but it still hurts when he presses in hard and reminds him of Eames’ bruising grip while he had fucked Arthur on his hands and knees, fucking the come right out of him with his thick cock.

Eames was right, Arthur will remember and jerk off to the memories for months. Hell, he might as well start right now and stay in bed. Fuck ice cream and TV.

Eames is gone when Arthur steps out of the bathroom. The tiny apartment looks like always, nothing hints that he was ever here. Arthur feels irrationally angry about it, and then upset that he’s angry in the first place. He’d been looking for sex without strings and that’s exactly what he got, no matter how fantastic it was.

He flops down on the bed, face-plants straight into his pillow and stays like that for a long time, feeling sorry for himself. There are wet patches under his hand and belly, but he can’t be bothered to care. The bed smells like Eames and sex and he’ll need a shower anyway after he’s jerked off all day.

Eventually the need for caffeine is too strong and drives him out of bed.

In the kitchen there’s a pot of coffee on the heating plate of the coffee maker. It’s thickened and bitter by now, but still, _Eames made him coffee_ and Arthur drinks it, not caring how bad it tastes. God, he’s pathetic and he wants to hit something because why couldn’t the guy just be a thoughtless asshole.

He notices the chain first.

It’s pinned to the fridge door with one of Arthur’s Spongebob magnets, a beaded chain with a small metal plate dangling from it. It just says Robert T. Eames and a long string of numbers below, everything stamped into the plate in neat print. Next to it is a message from Eames. On the fridge door, in black sharpie. It says _You’ll have to help me build stamina. xo_

Arthur barely refrains from squeaking like a twelve-year-old and is grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. They’ll have words about the sharpie later, once Eames comes back, because that’s what he hopes this means. But for now he stares at his fridge door and doesn’t care at all.

Definitely not just a passing fancy.


End file.
